


Dolls

by days4daisy



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: Angelcest, Inappropriate Use of Altars and Pulpits, M/M, Possession, Season/Series 01, Tumblr Prompt, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 10:31:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4301328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael grabs William’s chin and forces his head up. He glares into pupil-rich eyes. </p>
<p>Yes. Michael sees him now. His mouth curls back in a snarl. “Gabriel,” he says.</p>
<p>--<br/>General Season 1 Spoilers. Takes place prior to 1x01.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dolls

**Author's Note:**

> A tumblr anon requested Gabriam and Public Sex. This...pretty much fails the prompt. But it was still fun to write :D
> 
> Almost Season 2 time, woohoo!

Impulse draws Michael to the church grounds. He does not know why.

Worship of the savior child will be important when it is time to reveal the Chosen One. But the day-to-day development of this religion has not been of interest to Michael. Faith is a curiosity, but there are far more pressing concerns within Vega.

Still, today Michael is compelled to cross the square, past the statue of two hands reaching towards a cloudless sky. It is the middle of summer. Michael is not bothered by the heat, but his human body is aware of it. The sun burns the back of Michael’s neck. Service concluded over an hour ago. The park is quiet, citizens seeking shelter from the desert sun. 

Across the clearing stands the open pavilion, the site of weddings or other official ceremonies. The walls here are a fluid cloth, white sashes flowing with a gentle breeze. White chairs form rows leading to the center altar. Candles are lit. Vines twist around wooden altar legs. 

Amid flowers sits a sculpture of outstretched hands, the chosen child resting in a cradle of fingers. Michael traces a white petal, its edge blanketing the belly of the sculpted baby. He wonders if this is by design.

A groan draws his attention. The Principate stands at the pulpit, hands braced on its wooden sides. He has not changed from his service robes.

House Whele is known for its ruthless poise. Underhanded deeds performed with a smile. 

The son normally presents himself as the father demands. Polished to perfection. But today, William falters, his brow damp with sweat. He hunches, panting over a white knuckled grip.

Michael approaches warily and places a hand on the Principate’s shoulder.

William cries out like the touch rips skin from his back. His shoulders bunch in a high arch, bony and slim beneath his priestly garb.

“Are you ill?” Michael asks. 

Yes, he fears. But not with an illness born of this world. 

His theory gathers weight when the young Whele unravels from his sermon stand. His body, slumped seconds ago, straightens with a regality beyond House Whele, or any mortal. His shoulders stand proud, head lifted with self-assurance. Michael knows this stance far too well.

“Michael,” William says.

Michael frowns. It is William’s voice, but… 

It cannot be. Can it?

The spell breaks. William stutters back, folding under the weight of an unseen burden. His eyes are large and wet at the corners. A flush of strain colors his cheeks. “Archangel,” he forces out. “What can I- What can I do for you?”

“You are not well, Principate.” 

It is true, despite William’s return to himself. There is something else here. Someone else.

“The heat, it-” William’s voice chokes away, locked behind grit teeth. Short breaths burst from his flared nostrils. “The heat. It- ah!” He flails a hand out to grip the pulpit’s side. A shudder tears through him.

Michael places a hand on William’s back. His robes are soaked through with sweat. 

William makes a short sound. “Don’t touch me,” he yelps. He twists his head to regard Michael with wide, frightened eyes. “I’m sorry. Archangel, I- the heat. This summer hasn't been kind.”

“No,” Michael replies. His tone is even, but his eyes narrow. “It hasn’t.” He balls his fist in William’s robes. The young Whele hisses when he is forced back against the altar. A drop of sweat slides down his face.

“Summer heat, is it?” Michael mutters. William shivers under him. It is plain now, the arousal in the front of William’s clothes. William’s swollen lips part to blow out an unsteady breath.

Michael grabs William’s chin and forces his head up. He glares into pupil-rich eyes. 

Yes. Michael sees him now. His mouth curls back in a snarl. “Gabriel,” he says. 

William’s expression tightens, a dawning look of terror. But this tension melts quickly. 

A breeze presses the curtain walls inward, kaleidoscope panels of sunlight on the floor.

William smiles, wide and delighted. “Hello, brother,” he greets. 

The words form in William’s voice. But his gaze is not of House Whele. It is old, inhuman. More familiar to Michael than anything in creation.

“Human possession is beneath you,” Michael mutters. “You have your own body.”

It is William who grins, but Michael sees the twist of his brother’s lips. “Have I not lived up to your moral standards, Michael? Pity.”

“If you desired an audience with me, you could have asked for it-”

“My, my. That ego.” Michael hears Gabriel in the admonishment. “Who said this little joy ride had anything to do with you?”

“Why else?” Michael demands. If Gabriel is not here for him, he is here for Vega. A far more dangerous proposition.

Gabriel shrugs his possessed’s shoulders. “Boredom, I suppose.”

“Boredom!?”

William scoffs. “Save your judgment, brother.” But his expression relaxes to amusement. “Look at him.”

“A priest in the Church of Vega,” Michael grumbles. “Son to one of Riesen’s Consuls-”

“Please,” William snorts. He waves a dismissive, familiar hand. “I care little for the hierarchy in your city of idolaters. Look at _him_ , Michael.”

City of idolaters? Ridiculous. Meanwhile, Gabriel sits on his throne as their angel-kin revel at his feet. The new God in Father's absence.

But Michael does look at William, because it is in his nature to look. 

William is attractive by human standards, aided by the casual confidence of his brother's influence. But there are countless in this world who are pleasing to the eye. Michael fails to see the point. “If it is carnal pleasure you seek, you have your own followers. Preferable, I’m sure, given your hatred for mankind.”

“Carnal pleasure?” The words drip wryly. “Is that what you call the little harem of whores you keep in that glorified nest of yours?”

Michael frowns. The judgment does not bother him. It is the certainty with which Gabriel speaks. 

Gabriel is not guessing at Michael’s dalliances. He knows. 

Michael has long suspected that Gabriel has eyes within Vega. Clearly, the threat is serious. He is staring down at the proof. “What do you want?” Michael mutters.

Gabriel shrugs with William’s shoulders. “Beyond fucking with your clergy?” His grin pulls too tightly to be human. “I like this one,” he says. "He amuses me."

Michael gives William’s chest a shake. “They are not dolls for your toying, Gabriel.”

Gabriel hums, a daring twinkle in the eyes of his possessed. “Aren’t they though?”

He does...something. It makes William’s expression fall and his knees buckle. He is soon gripping Michael, hands locked on his arm. 

William’s eyes roll back, a moan leaving his lips. Quiet and wilted. “I’m…sorry, Archangel, I…I can’t…” 

Yes, it is William now. William, whimpering with his head dipped back. Throat tight. Weight slumped on Michael’s side. He is visibly shaking. “I can’t help it,” he gasps. “I can’t stop, I…fuck…”

Michael feels the slow grind of the young Whele on his leg. Heat radiates from his fever-soaked skin. His glassy eyes squint at the tent’s ceiling. 

“This is obscene, Gabriel,” Michael hisses.

All it takes is his brother’s name. William's desperation becomes laughter. The Principate's head tips back carelessly, amusement shouted through a wide mouth. 

Sweat-damp hair falls onto William’s forehead when he turns his smile back at Michael. “Obscene? Is that your word?”

“I have many words,” Michael grumbles. He shakes William's hands off his arm and takes a step back. “None are good.”

“Come now, Michael,” Gabriel chides. His eyes soften. A rare, honest look. 

“This won’t work,” Michael tells him. He is not convinced of his own conviction.

Gabriel smiles through his borrowed skin. A kinder, sadder expression. “Yes, brother. I’ve used this child to see you. Will you deny me for this sin?”

Michael knows this game. “We were their guardians, Gabriel-”

“You would speak to _me_ of a guardian's duty?” Gabriel’s scowl scrunches William’s nose. He kicks at the foot-worn soil. “This war will not end until one of us kills the other. Destiny, I’m afraid.” He sighs, all self-loathing. “I will continue to play your villain, Michael-”

“Don’t,” Michael grits. He takes a warning step forward. “You started this war, you don’t get to be a victim of it. It was your greed, your arrogance-”

“Do you not miss me, brother?” In twenty-five years, Michael has yet to learn the correct answer to this question. Only his instinctive one. 

Michael looks because he must, past the vacancy of William’s eyes to the pain of his brother’s. He sees himself in Gabriel’s presence, in his throne room high in the mountains. Gabriel’s chin propped on a hand, peering back at Michael through the eyes of his possessed.

“Gabriel.”

“Do you not miss me?”

It will not matter in the end. As Gabriel says, one brother will kill the other. It is the fate they have doomed each other to. Or, perhaps, it is the fate Father afforded them when he chose to leave.

William sets hands on Michael’s sides. Michael permits them. “You know I do,” Michael says.

“You surround yourself with your women. This silly altar, and your silly worshipers. Have you forgotten the voice you silenced, Michael?”

“Your choices severed our line, Gabriel,” Michael argues.

His brother is too selfish to admit to this. The way William’s face falls is enough.

“Our mind is broken.” Gabriel sighs. “My yin.” William cups Michael’s cheek, but the touch is his twin. A thumb crosses the arch of Michael’s cheek.

“It will remain broken,” Michael tells him. He will never waver on this. 

But his resolution does not make the pronouncement hurt less. He misses Gabriel. The loss of their bond is a hollow pit, the bloody gap of a stolen limb. 

It is a clumsy afterthought that makes Michael add, “But I will listen if you speak-”

Sorrow becomes venom. “Words will get us nowhere.” William’s fingers dig into his neck. “There is no reasoning with you, twin. I despise you, but I cannot feel you. It destroys me!” Michael sees Gabriel slumped on his throne, a hand sliding down his face. “I need to touch you,” Gabriel says. “I need to touch something.”

“And you chose William Whele?” Michael asks.

A bitter smile answers him. “Right now, I’ve chosen you, brother. My better half.”

Michael sighs his disapproval. But he allows William’s hand to sink further into his hair. 

When William leans up to kiss, Michael does not experience the vessel. It is Gabriel who kisses him. Gabriel’s body pressed to his, want plain against his side. Gabriel, whose hands stroke their desire into his hair. 

For a brief second, Michael can let himself forget everything. Father’s absence. This war. Michael can wind his arms around the body that should be his brother’s. 

He tilts his head and feels Gabriel respond. Yin and Yang. Their lips move with the ease of centuries, a sharp breath and a low hum. William’s tongue teases the line of his lips. But the groan is Gabriel’s, soft longing for a taste long withheld. A squeeze in Michael's hair. A note of need against his skin.

But it is William Whele's face that is flushed breathless from kissing him. Vacant, hooded eyes blink back at Michael when they part.

Michael’s gentle look become a glare. “Release him,” he says.

“Michael-”

“Release him,” Michael repeats. “Now.”

William’s mouth tilts ruefully. “Oh, brother,” he sighs. “How I’ve missed you.” 

The light dies from William’s eyes. Michael sets a hand on William’s shoulder to hold him upright. His weight falls against Michael’s chest. 

***

William is out until late evening. He is in his chambers when he wakes, lying on his mattress. It surprises William that Michael is still with him. 

He wonders if his dad knows. His face burns with shame.

“I enlisted the help of one of your men,” Michael says. “He vowed to be discreet.”

William nods, then looks away awkwardly. “I’m sorry for any disrespect, Archangel.” He fidgets with his bed sheet. “I can’t remember everything-”

“It was not you,” Michael replies. “Rest.” He opens the bedroom window with a wave of his hand. “Your father only knows you have turned in for the night. He will likely check on you in the morning.”

“Wonderful,” William mumbles. 

Dislike for David Whele is one thing he and the Archangel have in common. Michael offers an understanding nod, then departs into the night. 

It takes a full minute for William to exhale. He sinks into his pillows, large eyes on the ceiling. A disaster barely diverted. His pulse races.

_You did well, my son._

William shivers. He drags a hand down his face, fingers set on his own lips. A slow flick of pressure. 

He feels an answering squeeze between his thighs. The soft coil makes his legs spread wider and his hips rise of their own accord.

He cannot remember the full afternoon, the parts where he blacked out under the angel’s influence. But he still feels hot with Gabriel’s power. Warmth fills his cheeks, a knot of need tight in his belly.

_Will you continue to serve me, my priest?_

“Yes,” William breathes into the empty room. “Yes, Gabriel.”

_Good boy,_ Gabriel whispers, a licked presence in his ear. 

Something happens. Tension bubbles through every inch of him. White-hot sensation stroking outside and in. Pulsing pressure in William;s veins, his muscles contracting of their own accord. 

William bites a pillow, stifling his cry.

_Good boy,_ Gabriel repeats. 

William squeezes his eyes shut, silent permission offered. In Gabriel’s name.

*The End*

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also on [Tumblr](http://daisy4days.tumblr.com) :)


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